


anchorage ii

by itsmylifekay



Series: i'd be your anchor but i'm scared you'd drown [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:12:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmylifekay/pseuds/itsmylifekay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve continuing to find himself, getting help along the way from Bucky and the rest of the Avengers</p>
            </blockquote>





	anchorage ii

**Author's Note:**

> this is the part i had planned, just finally got around to writing it. for those of you still sticking around and reading this series, thank you so much, and i hope you enjoy  
> special thanks to cptbxrnes over on tumblr for the support^^

Bucky was only mildly surprised when Steve decided to go up for movie night. Was it uncharacteristic? Sure. But considering Thor was going to be there and that Steve had been having a pretty good day as far as things went, Bucky hadn’t really been _too_ shocked when Steve walked up to him and asked when the movie was. (It was at eight and Steve had asked at two, so they still had a few hours to kill.)

He and Steve usually spent their time in the tower separate but together. They’d be in the same room, but doing different things-- Steve didn’t always feel like talking and Bucky didn’t always know what to say (or even if he should-- sometimes just being spoken to made Steve get edgy). But at the moment Steve was on the couch with him, curled up next to Bucky’s side with his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder, listening quietly while Bucky read to him from the book in his lap.

It was something they had done _Before,_ but Bucky still wasn’t sure if Steve actually remembered that or if he had just asked because he was bored. Or if some old part of him had told him that that’s what he was supposed to do. Bucky didn’t know and he wasn’t about to ask-- still not quite ready to bring up the past with Steve and risk any of the progress they’d made so far.

Steve eventually ended up asleep on his shoulder, more tired now that his body had apparently decided that he was _allowed_ to sleep, that he was safe here. Bucky loved that he was healing, but couldn’t help the niggle of worry over just how often Steve would end up passing out at his side, on the couch, in their bed. He couldn’t help but wonder if some of it wasn’t Steve’s old body, frail and sickly with an immune system that couldn’t fight off a hamster. But he left that alone too. After all, Jarvis was supposed to be monitoring Steve’s body for any signs of distress, and with modern medical technology and Pepper just a phone call away...he knew there really wasn’t too big of a chance of Steve dying from the flu like there had been back in the 30s.

He huffed out a breath and rolled his neck, glancing at the clock on the wall and shutting his book. “Jarvis?” He asked.

The AI’s voice came politely from overhead. “Yes, sir?”

“Can you wake me up at seven? Don’t want to miss the movie, or dinner.”

“Of course, sir. And should Steve awaken before you? The usual protocol?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, tipping his head back against the couch. “Wake me up then, too. And can you tell Clint that Steve’s coming...and to pick an appropriate movie? I really don’t want to mess this up.”

Jarvis’s voice seemed to soften at that. “Of course, sir. I will wake you in three hours.”

Three hours turned out to be more like two, since the AI had to wake him up when Steve started to stir and push himself up from the couch. It was something unobtrusive about Clint saying he’d received the message, but Bucky could tell by the way Steve narrowed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling then back down at Bucky that he wasn’t fooled.

“Don’t have to do that, Buck.” Steve said, Brooklyn accent slipping in and making something pang in Bucky’s chest. “Don’t need to worry about me all the time.”

Bucky just sighed and slid a hand along Steve’s face, pushing some loose hair behind one of his ears. “I know, doesn’t mean I can’t want to though. Gonna worry about you same as I always have.”

There was a beat of silence at that, Steve freezing momentarily before shaking his head with a wince. “You’ve said that before. When I was- When I was bigger. _Gonna worry about you same as I always have, doesn’t matter if you’re six foot two or two foot six.”_

Bucky sucked in a breath, “You remember?”

“A little.” He closed his eyes like he was trying to chase the last fragments of whatever memory he had seen, brow furrowing before shaking his head.

Bucky took his face gently in his hands. “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured. “I’m glad you remembered what you did, so don’t force anything else when you’re not ready. Besides, we should start getting ready to head up for the movie.”

With a nod, Steve stood up from the couch and waited for Bucky to do the same, following him wordlessly into their bedroom so Bucky could pick out clothes. Bucky glanced over his shoulder, “You wanna take a shower first? We got time.”

Steve stared back at him, slightly withdrawn now that he had sharper memories to dissect. (He might’ve gotten all of his memories back on Asgard during the first shrink down, but they were still hazy and tampered by fever. His mind was still struggling to create order in the mess.) He didn’t seem opposed to the idea, at least, so Bucky laid some fresh clothes out on the bed then lead them both into the bathroom, turning the water on and letting it get warm while they stripped down.

The water was nearly scalding when they got in, but that’s how Steve needed it, would start to panic if he felt even the slightest bit cold. Panic, or completely shut down, devolving into just a weapon again with his clothes stripped off and water sluicing against his skin.

Bucky wasn’t about to let that happen.

So the water was hot and he kept one hand on Steve at all times, trying to anchor him, to keep him in the present. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But it was a good day so Steve didn’t even falter, just kept staring right at Bucky with those familiar blue eyes, even rubbing some soap on himself to help and pushing some shampoo through his hair before Bucky finished with his own hair and started rubbing at Steve’s scalp. It was good, and it gave Bucky hope for the rest of the evening.

He even got Steve to eat something too, just toast and a smoothie but it was better than nothing. And better than having to beg and beg for him to eat, sit with him for hours just so he could get a few bites down. It was Steve eating on his own and sipping at his smoothie while Bucky puttered around the kitchen. It was almost _normal._ It still took awhile, nearly an entire hour dedicated just to Steve finishing a single cup, so by the time Bucky could hear the straw hitting the bottom it was pretty much time to head upstairs.

“You ready to go then, Stevie?” Bucky asked, dragging a hand through his hair as he checked that he had everything in the small bag he had packed (just in case): inhaler, trash bag, washcloth, tissues...he threw in a bag of grapes for himself that he’d no doubt attempt to feed to Steve.

Steve nodded once, handed his empty glass to Bucky and took his plate to the sink where Bucky kissed the top of his head.

“Alright, then let’s go and stake out the best seats. I bet we can even get the couch.” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve like he was letting him in on some great scheme and they made their way to the elevator, taking it up to the main floor.

Natasha and Clint were already there, Clint setting everything up and Natasha lounging on one of the plushy armchairs nearby. The elevator dinged again behind them and Bucky sprinted to the couch, flopping down across its entire length just in time to hear Tony grumble something about getting cheated out in his own house. He poked his head over the back and grinned as Steve made his way over, sitting down carefully next to Bucky and staring at the blank screen. He was tense, but determined, and Bucky adjusted to sit beside him and put a protective arm around his shoulders.

The others slowly filtered in and took seats around the room, Sam settling down next to Bucky after throwing a questioning look at Steve for permission, Steve had nodded and soon they were only missing Thor. He pushed through the doors just a couple of minutes before eight. “I apologize for my tardiness,” he boomed, voice always carrying a bit more than the average person.

“It’s not eight yet, man. You’re good. But looks like you’re sitting on the floor.” Sam said as he glanced around the room where all the actual seats where taken.

Bucky’s head jerked down when he felt Steve pushing against him, fingers clenching into the front of Bucky’s shirt and tugging himself closer, eyes looking up at Bucky with strained edges. “Steve?” He asked, trying to keep his voice low, leaning down so he was basically speaking into Steve’s neck and Steve was pressed into his own.

It took a moment, but then Steve mustered out, “Lap?”

Bucky pulled back minutely, just enough to look Steve in the eyes. “Of course you can.” He used the arm around Steve’s shoulder to help him closer, getting his other hand down to guide Steve’s legs over his lap. He felt Sam tense and then consciously relax next to him and could tell he was as surprised as Bucky was. Because Steve had never been _averse_ to Sam per say, but he also had never been willing to touch anyone but Bucky or Thor.

“It is of no concern,” Thor assured, conversation still going on around them. “I do not mind.” He came around the side of the couch then stopped when he caught Steve looking at him, small and shaking against Bucky’s chest but still so, _so_ strong. “Steven,” Thor grinned. “I am glad that you are here.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth barely twitched up in response, but he looked down at the now open spot next to him then back up at Thor pointedly.

Thor grinned even wider. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath.

“You are a great friend,” Thor said, settling down next to Bucky on the couch, reaching out a hand to squeeze Steve’s good shoulder. “Are you looking forward to seeing the movie?”

Steve nodded, then paused for a moment, eyes darting around the room before he slowly relaxed into Bucky’s chest. His back was pressed to Thor’s side and his legs were still awkwardly bent to avoid too much contact with Sam, but he was there in the room with them, eyes staring at the screen and body a warm weight on Bucky’s lap.

Steve was _trying_ and that was all Bucky could ask. All he could hope for, really, especially since once Steve Rogers got his mind set on something it was only a matter of time before he achieved it. It was a personality trait that caused a lot of problems, fights, and arguments in the past but now Bucky was counting on it to pull Steve through everything that had happened. Because if there’s one thing Bucky knew it was that Steve was a tenacious son of a bitch.

He bent and pressed a kiss to the crook of Steve’s neck, held him close as the movie started and the lights dimmed just a touch. Images flickered on the screen: Vikings and dragons in Pixar animation. Steve was only half paying attention, eyes dancing around the room, fingers clenching and unclenching in Bucky’s sleeve. At one point his breathing started to pick up and Bucky had frozen, getting ready to stand up or get out or restrain depending on what Steve needed. But Steve just sucked in a last breath, held it in, then carefully uncurled his legs so that they were in a more comfortable position and, by consequence, tucked up against Sam’s side.

Bucky noticed Sam glance over curiously, eyes widening in surprise, but the other man just smiled at Steve for a moment before turning back to the film. Steve relaxed. And Bucky slumped back into the cushions as well.

Before long the movie was coming to a close, the final battle raging on screen and Steve’s head resting against his own. His eyes were flickering between opened and closed and Bucky had his fingers crossed that it would be an easy night, that the movie would’ve gotten Steve’s mind shut down enough to rest dreamlessly. But then the true end of the battle came and the main character was falling, falling and dropping and Bucky’s eyes dropped to lock on Steve’s face, praying he was dozing. But he wasn’t. His eyes were open and staring straight at the screen, locked onto it with the blazing inferno reflected in his own expanded pupils.

Steve stopped breathing, watched the events unfold on screen with a focus that had Bucky unnerved, and Sam shifting beside him. The other man nudged Bucky’s shoulder softly, lifted an eyebrow in question. But Bucky just shook his head. It would be pointless to do anything at that point, not when Steve had already seen. He’d just have to hope Clint wasn’t an idiot and that the movie had a happy ending-- one that didn’t involve one best friend losing the other because of an uncontrollable and unstoppable drop into an abyss.

But the boy was saved, the people cheered, and Bucky let himself relax-- until an unassuming viking popped in and declared, _‘well, most of him_ ’, and Bucky’s heart clenched; Steve’s fingers twisted violently in his sleeve as they waited to see what was lost.

It was a foot, not an arm thank _god._ But Steve was still tense and pale nonetheless, breathing shallowly into Bucky’s neck

The boy stumbled with his first step, fell and needed to be caught, and Bucky glanced down at Steve again, brushed soothing fingers through his hair. He was already planning how to best extract Steve from the situation, was leaning towards scooping him up as soon as the credits started and booking it for the elevator, but then something happened.

The boy left the house.

He met his father, his village, and the people were _happy_ to see him. They joked around and didn’t view anything the boy had done as failure.

Steve sucked in a quiet breath, corners of his eyes wet, and Bucky kissed the side of his neck again, picking him up carefully in his arms and heading for the elevator with the sound of a dragon’s roar calling from the background.

The elevator doors hissed shut, Steve sobbing into his shoulder, and Bucky prayed it meant Steve was finally going to let himself heal.

\---+---+---+---

“I’m going to call Sam.” Natasha murmured, looking out of the corner of her eye to where Steve was still curled up by the window.

Clint nodded. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”

Steve hadn’t moved from his spot in hours, not since he’d first plopped there that morning after Bucky’d dropped him off. Supposedly, he’d had a good night, and Clint knew without a doubt that Barnes wouldn’t have left him if he thought Steve was going to have a bad day or there would be a problem.

It seemed Steve still had some of the same self-sacrificing stubbornness in him that Bucky’d kept telling them about. Because Steve was quite obviously having a bad day, and he had quite obviously hid it from Bucky so the other man wouldn’t feel bad leaving him to go on his mission. Normally, Bucky’s assignments could be done quickly, within a few hours. And if they couldn’t he’d sit them out entirely, maybe offer some input but for the most part stubbornly refuse to leave Steve’s side. But for this mission Fury had insisted, and Steve had heard, and Bucky’d ended up making arrangements to leave Steve with he and Nat for the day.

Clint was glad Bucky felt he could trust them with something so important, but at the same time...he wasn’t sure they were up to the task. (Steve wasn’t entirely enamored with either of them and a grand total of seven words had been spoken between the three of them since Steve’s arrival at the tower.)

But Thor was back on Asgard for the time being, Sam was back in DC and couldn’t make it in on such short notice, and that meant the next in line were he and Natasha. For better or worse. Bucky’d told them to turn on the TV (kids shows or extremely tame animal documentaries only), try to get him to eat, and call him if _anything_ happened. If Steve so much as sniffled, hiccuped slightly on an inhale, they were supposed to let him know.

Clint had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well-- not if the way Steve’s shoulders were resolutely set was any indication. So he was all for Natasha’s plan, _all_ for it. And even if Steve didn’t want to talk to Sam, hopefully Sam would be able to tell them what they should do. And if they should truly piss Steve off by calling Bucky.

Nat dialed.

Clint waited.

And Steve’s back stiffened from across the room.

“Sam,” Natasha said, voice calm and level as always.

_“Hey, what’s up?”_

“Do you have a moment?”

Steve couldn’t hear their conversation from where he was, not with the way he refused to wear the hearing aid Bucky had arranged for him (Clint hoped he’d agree eventually, especially since the ones Tony had designed for him worked spectacularly), and Clint watched as he got visibly more and more tense and shaky as Natasha slowly walked towards him.

_“Yeah, got plenty of time. Is something wrong? I thought you were with Steve?”_

“We are,” Natasha said into the receiver. Then she stopped in front of Steve and held out the phone. “Would you like to talk to Sam?”

Steve’s thin shoulders immediately lost most of their tension and his eyes lost all of their fire, turning to something Clint couldn’t identify before the smaller man took the phone and turned away, back towards the window. But the volume was way up on the phone so Steve could hear, and Clint honestly couldn’t tune out the conversation if he tried, so he could still discern the tinge of shame and guilt and thanks in the way he sighed into the receiver and said a quiet, “Sam…”

_“Hey man, how’s it going? Doing okay?”_

Steve’s shoulders tensed again, body coiled up like he was about to fight, but within moments he was deflated again, slumping against the window and mumbling a _‘no’_ that fogged up the glass.

_“Did you sleep alright?”_

“Yeah.”

Steve’s one word answers didn’t seem to deter Sam in the least. Hell, Clint found himself listening in more than he normally would just because Steve was _talking._ And honestly, it was nice to hear his voice. To see some life, however frail and fleeting, move within the body of the man Bucky (and history) had told stories about.

_“More memories?”_ Steve said another ‘no’ and Sam paused a moment before carefully asking, _“Have anything to do with Bucky?”_

At that, Steve said nothing, looking down at his lap before staring back out the window, fingers tightening around the phone.

_“Steve, you gotta talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”_

“I--” Steve finally started. “He left his dog tags. And a picture.”

Sam waited, then prompted again. _“Alright. Did that upset you? Did you not want him to?”_

“They’re...old.” Steve said softly.

And even though Clint didn’t have a clue what that meant or what the fuck was going on it apparently all clicked for Sam because he was immediately making a pained, knowing noise into the line.

_“He’s still here, Steve. I promise you he is. You’re both here.”_

Clint felt something terrible and twisted sink into the pit of his stomach because _oh, oh shit,_ he never realized Steve could get confused about that too. Could have trouble discerning between what was real and what wasn’t, could think Bucky was somehow gone-- dead back in the 40s-- just because Steve couldn’t see him and only had a few antiquated tokens to remember him by. The carefully neutral expression on Natasha’s face didn’t betray much, but Clint knew her well enough to know she was feeling the same pang of sympathy.

_“You can always call him, you know he’d be happy to talk to you.”_ Sam continued, but Steve made a pained sound in the back of his throat so Sam tried a different path. _“Are Clint or Nat there? They can show you different pictures, even some videos. Prove that he’s here.”_

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he glanced carefully over his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw Natasha was already making her way over, holding out her tablet with a quick google search of Bucky Barnes on the screen. His eyes traced over each and every one and Natasha wordlessly held out her hand, putting the phone to her ear when Steve gave it back, taking the tablet instead.

“Thank you,” she said, moving back to the couch and curling up against the armrest.

_“He doing better then?”_

She looked back over out of the corner of her eye. “Just looking at some pictures on google. Don’t worry, I put the safety lock on.”

_“Good, well, call me again if you need to. And text me when Bucky comes to get him so I know everything went okay.”_

“Alright,” she agreed. “Talk to you later.”

The phone turned black and she set it on the end table, grabbing the book that was lying there instead, bringing it into her lap and scanning calmly over the pages. Steve was still scrolling through the pictures, so Clint settled down in an armchair and flicked on the TV, keeping it on mute and turning on the closed captioning instead. A few minutes passed and then Steve shifted, stood up on stiff legs and made his way over to the couch, sat down gingerly on the opposite end from Natasha.

They locked eyes over the edges of their respective distractions and a silent understanding seemed to settle between them, Clint watching as a small smile tugged up the corner of Natasha’s lips and Steve settled more firmly into the cushions.

And it didn’t turn out to be such a bad day after all. The call had calmed Steve considerably, leaving him scrolling through pictures for about half an hour before he slumped into the cushions, curling into a protective ball wedged against the armrest with Natasha’s tablet held to his chest. Clint was just glad he felt comfortable enough to take a nap in front of them. It was obvious the poor guy needed it, but it was a well known fact around the tower that Steve would only sleep around Bucky or Thor. So it was kind of like they’d suddenly become Steve approved. Special stamp and everything.

So when Steve finally woke up a couple hours later, eyes blinking open slowly and body tensing for just a moment while he reoriented himself, Clint didn’t feel the need to be quite so cautious when he noticed Steve eyeing a still reading Natasha at the end of the couch and stood up to nudge him gently on the shoulder. “Wanna come help me in the kitchen?”

Steve stared up at him, then looked back at Natasha, then down to the dark screen of the tablet in his lap. His fingers tightened on the casing.

“You don’t have to,” Clint said, trying to keep his voice light. “Want Nat to turn the tablet back on instead?”

There was a long pause, deliberation clear in the lines of Steve’s face, but he finally shook his head. The tablet was placed gently on the couch and then Steve stood, hand coming up to grasp at his empty shoulder as he looked up at Clint with an apprehensive but determined look on his face. Which, alright, Clint could work with that. He led them into the kitchen and started pulling out a mixing bowl and some spoons, measuring cups and standard things like that.

“Let’s see…” he mumbled, mostly thinking out loud. “What should we make….”

He heard Steve moving behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see the smaller man fidgeting at the counter top, eyeing the various baking implements Clint had laid out.

“Do you have a preference?” Clint asked. He knew he had to be careful, Bucky’d warned them not to pressure Steve into making decisions (no matter how mundane they seemed) if it looked like he wasn’t doing well. But Steve seemed fine, just...more confused if anything. And Clint figured that was more of the ambiguity of the question than anything else. “Here,” he offered, rummaging through his recipe basket and holding out a few notecards. “Look through those and see if anything looks good.”

Steve flicked through the stained and battered cards, spreading them out on the counter and pushing them to the side once he’d read the recipe through. After a few minutes of Clint quietly waiting to the side, Steve seemed to start hesitating, hand hovering over the left most area of the cards but not reaching out to grab one in particular. Clint tried to be nonchalant about walking over.

“So,” he started, glancing down at the area Steve was stuck on: peanut butter cookies, melt aways, and chocolate buttons. “Something catch your eye?”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat a bit and Clint immediately tried to think of ways to deflect, but then Steve shifted slightly, reached down and grabbed up the recipe for chocolate buttons and held it up for Clint to see.

And this was great. This was fucking awesome. Because Steve had just made a decision and Clint hardly had to help.

Something about Steve’s face had Clint pausing, plucking the recipe from Steve’s fingers and looking it over carefully. “You wanna make this one, then?”

And Steve nodded. But he still had that _look_ on his face and damnit Clint wanted to know what it was for.

“Steve,” he said, trying to be careful and knowing he was probably pushing too much-- that if Bucky were there he’d be pulling Clint out of the kitchen by the collar. “If there’s something wrong you can tell me. We don’t have to make any of them if you don’t want. Or if there’s something wrong with this one...we can try to change the recipe. But I won’t know what to fix if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

He realized that last line sounded suspiciously like something Sam said and hoped Steve connected with it rather than seeing at is as condescending.

After a painfully long moment, Steve finally spoke. “Powdered sugar’s real easy to inhale. With my lungs...don’t think I could help with that part.”

Internally fist-pumping at the fact Steve wasn’t just making choices-- he was being slightly _assertive_ and speaking in full sentences _,_ he shook his head and gave Steve a careful grin. “Steve, c’mon. We can just take the powdered sugar out of the recipe, it’s pretty much just decoration anyway. Although...might have you stand back for the flour and cocoa powder though if stuff like that bothers your lungs.”

And after a carefully considering look from Steve, that’s exactly what ended up happening, Clint getting everything set up and measured out and prompting Steve when to dump things in the bowl, mixing all the while. He added the dry ingredients himself then called Steve back over, had him scoop out spoonfuls that Clint could roll into balls. Then came the oven. And the waiting. And then the timer and Clint’s favorite part: pressing the snowcaps into the top of the warm cookies.

“Gotta be firm but not too firm, alright?” Clint prompted. “Want it nestled in there but don’t squish through to the bottom.”

Steve nodded, concentration evident in the furrow of his brow as he pressed the first candy into a cookie top. A slight smile curved his lips at the squish of dough and Clint quickly handed over another candy, keeping Steve supplied as he put the final touch on each of their tiny masterpieces.

And that’s why Bucky found them up at one in the morning, sprawled out on the couch together waiting for him with chocolate stained clothes and fingers. (Clint and Natasha were responsible for most of the missing cookies but Steve had nibbled on one or two.)

Steve’s eyes widened when Bucky came over and knelt between his legs, looking up at the other man like he couldn’t quite believe he was there.

“Hey Stevie,” Bucky murmured, reaching up to rub the side of Steve’s neck. “Have a good time?”

Steve nodded and Bucky looked over to the nearly empty plate of cookies on the coffee table, turning back to Steve when fingers gripped the hem of his shirt. “Alright, it’s alright,” he hushed. “I’m here.” He reached out and pulled Steve forward, got both skinny legs on either side of his hips then stood with Steve held against his side, Steve’s face going immediately into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

But Bucky just smiled, eyes tired but with honest happiness lurking in their depths. And Clint understood why now because yeah Steve was still struggling, had a slightly worrying reaction to Bucky’s return, but there had been so much _good_ in the day. He’d gotten over the rough morning, had talked with Sam, had sat with Natasha, and baked with Clint. It’d been...good. Simple and careful, but _good._ It was another baby step forward and they were all learning how to help along the way.

\---+---+---+---

“I’d always save up to buy you peppermint sticks,” Bucky murmured, arms wrapped protectively around Steve beneath the covers. “You’d complain at the cost, that I shouldn’t have, but I always convinced you to take ‘em in the end.”

Steve picked at the collar of Bucky’s shirt, fingers warm from time spent pressed up against Bucky’s skin. The room was dark around them and Steve’s breaths were coming out even and slow. It was only early evening, but Tony had made special arrangements in their room, put in thick curtains that blocked out all the light so that Steve could sleep whenever his body let him. Now, his eyelids were fluttering shut and his forehead was tilting into Bucky’s sternum, everything shutting down in a way that would’ve alarmed Bucky in the past.

(Truth be told, it still gave him an uneasy feeling in his gut, the way Steve would sometimes drop off without meaning to, without _wanting_ to. Like that switch that’d been flipped had no middle setting. It was either tortuous nightmares and insomnia, or Steve sleeping nearly half the day away.)

“The medicine, it tasted real bad.” Steve’s soft, scratchy voice had Bucky blinking in surprise. “I remember that. Think you knew it did, too. Might’ve said something once.”

“I asked about it,” Bucky corrected gently. Then he laughed. “You wouldn’t admit it, too stubborn for that. Weren’t gonna complain about it when medicine was so expensive, so much work. Just lied through your teeth instead. Saw right through ya though, punk.”

Steve was silent for a long time and Bucky would’ve started to wonder if he hadn’t fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the tense line of his shoulders. Something had obviously set Steve’s mind into motion and it was usually best to just wait and let Steve work it out for himself so long as he was remaining calm and didn’t drift off for too long. Another minute passed before he rubbed a hand over Steve’s spine, digging the heel of his palm lightly into the muscles there. It helped ground them both, and Steve let out a shuddering exhale before gripping tighter to Bucky’s shirt.

“I used to be a terrible liar,” Steve finally said, a weight behind the admission and the use of past tense making Bucky pause, frozen in place before tugging Steve even closer.

“Stevie,” he whispered, edge of warning to his tone. They shouldn’t go down that path. _Steve_ shouldn’t go down that path. It was one that was hard to escape from and didn’t bring anything but unnecessary pain.

“I know,” Steve untangled his fingers from the collar of Bucky’s shirt and brought his hand down to the hem instead, dipping beneath the fabric and holding tight to the warm skin there. “I _know_.” But his voice sounded wrong, choked and strained, and Bucky lifted a hand and wrapped it around the back of Steve’s neck, held him steady and firm.

“Steve,” he said. “Steve, I’ve got you, I promise.” He coaxed Steve’s head down to his chest, pressed his good ear right up alongside his heart. The steady beating had always been a comfort before and it was one they’d rediscovered in the now, Steve focusing on the sound to keep dark thoughts away. “Just let it go, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

After a steadying breath, most of the tension drained away from Steve’s shoulders and his fingers scraped meaningless patterns into Bucky’s hip. His acceptance of Bucky’s words was quick and Bucky couldn’t help but be reminded of conversations with Sam and Steve, fruitless attempts at discerning whether Steve’s easy relationship with Bucky was because of trust or obedience. Those arduous sessions always left Steve cranky and tense and contained seemingly endless amounts of questions with too few answers. But Steve remained unwavering in his belief that he listened to Bucky because it was _Bucky_ , not because of any lingering conditioning. After all, even through all the conditioning he’d found his way back to Bucky in the end. Had trusted him even after everything else had been taken away, had known Bucky was the one who’d take care of him the best.

So Bucky tried not to worry now, just took the simple moment for the gift it was and pressed a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

“Bucky,” Steve mumbled, face pressed into Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky hummed softly in response.

“Think they still sell those?”

It took Bucky a moment to catch on, but then he was stroking the back of Steve’s neck thoughtfully, thumb brushing over the nape. “The peppermint sticks?” Steve nodded in response and Bucky thought for a moment before carefully saying, “Bet they can’t be too hard to find, did you want some?”

And at first Steve didn’t respond, but then he nodded again into Bucky’s chest.

“Then I’ll get some for you,” Bucky promised. “Put ‘em in a dish out in the kitchen so you can have one whenever you want.”

It was dark in the room but Bucky could still catch the faint blush that warmed Steve’s neck, the quiet pride at having asked for something and having Bucky answer, having Bucky provide without hesitation. It was moments like these that reminded Steve the most that he was safe, that he was loved and cared for and _human._ That he wasn’t a weapon anymore.

With a pleased smile curling his lips, Steve was out like a light, pressed warm and happy into Bucky’s larger frame beneath the covers. Bucky laid there with him for a long time, watched the minutes tick by until it was past dinner and his stomach was demanding he get up and eat-- Steve might not’ve had the super-soldier serum in him any longer but Bucky did, and that meant skipping meals wasn’t really an option. So he eased himself out from under Steve’s pliant form and tucked the covers around Steve’s shoulders before slipping out into the hall, determined to find sustenance and a way to get Steve his peppermints as soon as possible. Which meant he’d probably need to find Pepper, because if anyone in the tower was going to know where to buy specialty candy from the depression era he had a feeling it was going to be her.

But when he got to the kitchen in the common area the lights were dimmed and there was only one person still sitting up at the bar, bent over a tablet and concentrated face lit by the screen.

“Hey Bruce,” Bucky said, trying not to startle the other man as he made his way to the fridge. There was some leftover Turkish food stacked on the shelves and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw a box marked with Steve’s name in Natasha’s handwriting-- a peek inside the lid revealing Steve’s favorite spinach pide. He grabbed a different box for himself, one unmarked and therefore unclaimed, and set up at the bar across from Bruce, picking apart the marinated lamb and mixing it with some vegetables.

Bruce glanced up at him then set his tablet to the side. “Having a late dinner?”

“Yeah, missed the first one.” He shrugged and took the first bite. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Working,” Bruce explained. “Fury called Clint and Natasha in, Pepper had to fly to California, and Tony’s in the lab. Everyone pretty much had to eat and run.”

“Didn’t miss much then,” Bucky stirred his fork around the container then pointed it to Bruce’s tablet. “Looks like you’re in the middle of something too.”

“Just looking over something Tony and I were messing with, not really work.”

Bucky nodded and went back to eating, finishing off the leftovers quickly and throwing the box in the trash. When he sat back down, Bruce cleared his throat softly, acting nervous for a moment before he finally came out and asked, “Is Steve in bed, then?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, then popped an eyebrow at the way Bruce immediately relaxed. “Why?”

The question had Bruce hesitating again, but then he sighed and ran his hands across his face in a tired gesture. “I know he doesn’t like me much. I was worried he hadn’t come up with you because I was here.”

“Oh,” Bucky looked down at the counter, not quite sure what he should say-- because while Steve didn’t actively avoid Banner in a group setting, it wasn’t hard for anyone to miss how uncomfortable Steve was around the older man.

“It’s okay,” Bruce said. “I understand why I’d make him uncomfortable. I just want to make sure I’m not keeping him from moving around the tower.”

Despite Bruce’s attempts otherwise, the guilt in his voice was still obvious and it sent a pang of sympathy down Bucky’s chest, coiling demanding and hot for a moment before he finally ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the ceiling.

“Jarvis, is Steve still sleeping?”

Bruce looked at him in surprise but Jarvis just responded with a polite, “Yes, sir, he is still asleep.”

Bucky muttered a thanks then turned back to Bruce, trying to put together exactly what he was going to say. Because even though he was sure Steve would support what he was doing, not wanting anyone to hurt over him or feel shame about things they couldn’t control, Bucky still had to be careful not to over share and cross the line between alleviating Bruce’s doubts and breaking Steve’s trust.

“Bucky?” Bruce questioned, brow furrowed but still restrained like he was trying not to push.

Bucky decided waiting any long wasn’t going to help, so he sighed and said, “Steve’s… The way he is around you, it’s not because of what you think.”

Bruce rocked back slightly in his seat, forehead creasing further as he tried to understand what Bucky was getting at. “You don’t have to justify Steve’s feelings to me. The Other Guy makes a lot of people uncomfortable. And if that’s not it, I’m still a scientist and a doctor-- I’m sure he’s had enough of those to last a lifetime.”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair again but left them there, head propped up in his palms and elbows braced on the counter. “That’s not what I--” He blew out a breath and looked up at Bruce. “Steve doesn’t have a problem with _you_. He has a problem with himself, his own guilt that he hasn’t been able to work through. You just happen to be an unfortunate manifestation of that.”

It was obvious by the look on Bruce’s face that he didn’t really understand what Bucky was saying and Bucky cursed his inability to find the right words. Sam would know what to do, would know the terms and the phrasing to make it all understandable and discreet, but Bucky wasn’t Sam so he was just going to have to try his best to make it work.

So he started again.

“The serum that Steve was given during the war, it was supposed to help save the world. And when Dr. Erskine was killed and any hope of recreating the process was lost, all of that expectation and hope fell on Steve.” He lowered his voice, locked eyes with Bruce and explained very slowly. “Steve took that responsibility very seriously. Too seriously, in my opinion. And now, in the future, he thinks of that serum that was supposed to save the world, that he was entrusted with, and all he can connect it with is hurt and destruction.”

Realization began dawning on Bruce’s face, but Bucky kept going regardless, wanted to make sure he truly understood.

“He sees the serum as a major component in creating the Winter Soldier. He sees it as the reason for my being tortured during the war. He sees it as the reason you suffer. He truly believes that those things are his fault. That he failed. And _that_ is why he doesn’t like to be around you, Bruce. Not because of who you _are,_ but because of what you remind him of.”

With Bucky’s explanation finished, the room fell into silence, Bruce staring across at him with an unreadable expression before his face crumpled and he buried his head in his hands. But he still didn’t say anything. Minutes passed and Bucky stood up and quietly washed out his glass and cleaned his silverware, waiting out whatever Bruce was thinking.

Finally, Bruce stood up as well, joined Bucky at the sink and washed out his own mug with careful hands. Another beat passed between them, just water splashing against the metal basin, and then Bruce spoke, “I wish there was a way I could help, but I’m not that kind of doctor.” He set the mug in the drying rack with a soft clink. “And I feel like that guilt is something Steve needs to work past on his own, without my pushing the issue. So I’ll wait until he’s ready,” he turned to Bucky and gave him a careful smile. “But let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Bucky returned the smile, eternally grateful that he was surrounded by people who were so much like family. “I will,” he promised. “And he does like you, by the way. Maybe I can convince him to do yoga with you sometime?”

Bruce chuckled lightly. “Of course, just let me know.”

With a final nod and an off-hand salute, Bucky headed back for the elevator, stepping through the doors and calling out a final ‘good night’ as they slid shut.

He was back beside Steve in a heartbeat, curled up along his back with his arms wrapped around him, heart melting in his chest when Steve automatically pushed closer into the embrace with a tiny sigh. His lips found the soft skin of Steve’s neck and he pressed a kiss just behind his ear before murmuring into the darkness, “I’ve got you, Stevie.”

Steve shifted slightly but didn’t wake, hand coming up to tangle with Bucky’s across his chest.

“I’ve got you.”

\---+---+---+---

Pepper’s heels clicked sharply on the kitchen tile as she made her way across the room. Clint was busy cutting and mixing and measuring while Steve dutifully stirred at a bowl, bangs hanging over his face as the liquid smoothed together. But when Pepper strode into the room they both paused, knife freezing mid flash and spoon pausing and clunking dully against the ceramic bowl. Pepper could hear the flick of Natasha’s book from back in the living room before she delicately cleared her throat.

“Steve,” she said carefully, soft smile on her face as Steve glanced over at her. “I was wondering if you’d like to go shopping.”

She didn’t miss the minute widening of his eyes or the way he glanced uneasily out towards the floor to ceiling windows framing the darkening New York city skyline.

“I know it’s late,” she continued. “But I was heading out and I know Bucky had mentioned you needing some new things to wear, so I thought I’d ask if you’d like to come.”

Steve turned slightly to the side, looked at Clint with a conflicted expression and down to the bowl with the spoon still immobile in its center.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint said easily. “I’ll just put this stuff in the fridge, we can finish it tomorrow.”

Steve released the spoon then deliberated a moment more before saying, “I want to go.”

The surprise that threatened to overtake her expression was quickly schooled away and Pepper simply clutched her hands in front of herself instead, keeping her smile light as she nodded. She was about to say she’d call Happy to get a car ready when Natasha spoke up from behind her, making Pepper startle slightly in place.

“I’ll drive,” Natasha said simply. Then, sensing Pepper’s surprise, her lips twitched up into a humorless smile. “What? I need new pants.”

Pepper had a feeling that Natasha’s tagging along had nothing to do with needing new clothes for herself, but didn’t question it regardless. She was under no illusions, after all, of the weight that this seemingly simple excursion would carry. It seemed almost wrong for Steve’s first trip outside of the tower to be without Bucky by his side, but she honestly hadn’t expected Steve to say yes. Her interaction with the man had been limited at best and from the updates Tony had been giving her he still had a long way to go...But she’d thought it would be polite to offer.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that Steve _had_ in fact said yes, and it didn’t temper her doubts at all when she saw the way Clint and Natasha were eyeing Steve warily as well, as if they too were trying to figure out what was going on in Steve’s head.

They must’ve been too obvious about their hesitation because Steve’s back was tense and his eyes were growing dark and withdrawn. Pepper cleared her throat again to deter the looming storm. “Well that’s settled then. Will you both be ready to go in ten minutes?”

Natasha nodded and walked over to Steve, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and leading him out of the kitchen. But before they could leave Steve stopped and turned his head, staring up at Pepper with icy blue eyes that looked directly into her own.

The room was silent as Steve’s eyes flicked across her face, Pepper staring right back, Natasha’s hand still pressed into his shoulder and Clint watching from the counter. She wasn’t sure what exactly Steve was looking for but he apparently found it, because in the next moment he was leaning back into Natasha’s hold, letting her lead him towards the elevators.

Pepper straightened her jacket and Clint shook his head. “Think we should call Barnes?”

“No,” she said after a moment of thought. “If something happens, we’ll call. But for now let’s just see how he does.”

Clint shrugged and went about putting away what he and Steve had been making, turning his back to her as she strode out of the room, heels clicking on tile once again.

She made it down to the ground floor with a few minutes to spare and answered a couple of emails while she waited, glancing up when the private elevator for the Avengers slid open and Steve and Natasha stepped out. Natasha was dressed in a simple outfit: jeans and a fitted blouse, but Steve’s was a bit less run of the mill. One of Bucky’s button-ups was hanging loosely off his smaller frame and he had on a pair of what looked like Natasha’s skinny jeans that still managed to look a size too big. It was now strikingly obvious why Bucky had mentioned Steve needing new clothes and she entertained the question as to why Bucky hadn’t done something about it sooner before she realized that, well, Steve never left the tower, had really only just begun leaving his _floor_ on a semi-regular basis. He’d been just fine living in Bucky’s borrowed sweatpants and oversized tees.

Which left her hopeful and wondering as to why Steve had decided to get new clothes now, but she curbed her curiosity and filled the silence in the car with a description of where they were going. It wasn’t a huge store, a fairly small one, actually. It was a boutique that she and Tony used that offered custom fitting and a wide selection of styles and had proven their commitment and loyalty to their customers time and time again.

Which is why, when they walked into the store, the only people inside were a handful of staff-- the owner, a tailor, and two assistants. Pepper thanked them all profusely for accommodating them on such short notice and watched Steve and Natasha look around from the corner of her eye, noticing the hand Natasha had on Steve’s tense shoulder, the way her thumb was anchored into the start of his spine.

She gave the owner another grateful smile, then made her way over to where Natasha had stopped Steve in front of a display of dress shirts, out of the way but not enough so to be conspicuous.

“Is everything alright?”

Steve’s eyes were flicking around the store, hand coming up to grip at his shoulder before moving to tangle in the chain of Bucky’s dog tags around his neck. There was a slight tremor in his hand that Pepper studiously ignored and she averted her eyes when Steve flicked open the locket alongside the dog tags, glancing at Natasha instead who was watching Steve with a calculating expression.

“He’s on a mission, you know that.” Natasha reminded. “He’ll be back home before the end of the night.”

Steve nodded, thumb tracing over one of the pictures before he clicked the locket shut again, letting it fall back against his chest. His eyes went around the store one more time. “Yeah, I remember.”

And just like that they were back on track again.

Pepper flicked through some of the dress shirts in the display in front of them, but the styles seemed a bit too forward-thinking for Steve and Bucky’s taste (sequins accents and tasseled button holes weren’t for everyone, after all). But really, she didn’t know what Steve’s taste was at all, she was just assuming it would be something like Bucky’s due to their similar histories.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” She asked.

Steve looked at the display then back to Pepper, picking at one of the buttons on his shirt. “Pants, and some shirts. Suspenders if they have any.”

“Alright, any idea what style you want? Colors?”

Steve shook his head.

“Not a problem, we’ll just start with a few different things and see what you like best. How’s that sound?” Her hand tentatively fell onto his shoulder then tightened when he didn’t pull away, leading him further towards the back the same way she had seen Natasha do earlier. She grabbed a shirt from nearly every display, picking different colors and shades and cuts before finally reaching the dressing room entrance. And then she paused, taking in what Steve was wearing and wondering what the best way to go about the task would be.

But they found a solution easily enough, Pepper holding out each shirt and Steve shaking his head yes or no about the color, whittling the selection down until only a half dozen remained. Then he made his way into the dressing room itself, stripping off Bucky’s shirt with a sharp inhale and letting Pepper help ease one of the new ones over his shoulders. His chest was pale and skinny and alarmingly concave, scars littering the surface and culminating around the skin covering his empty shoulder. Bucky’s dog tags and the locket sat as constant reminders above Steve’s chest.

“What do you think of this, then?” Pepper asked quietly, not wanting to break the easy silence that had fallen between them.

Steve considered himself in the mirror and Pepper turned to look as well. “It’s alright,” Steve said.

“But?” Pepper prompted. “Something isn’t quite right?”

Steve nodded in agreement.

“Well then we’ll try something else.” Steve worked that shirt off and Pepper helped him into the next, both of them looking in the mirror as soon as the last button was done. It was another no go, so Pepper grabbed one of the more conservative shirts, boxy and plain and without any modern alterations except for the nicer fabric. Finally, Steve nodded his approval.

They ended up with five of the same shirt in different colors, as well as one modern-cut shirt that Pepper had insisted Steve try, hinting that it might be something to wear if he and Bucky ever wanted to go out. A few pairs of pants were added, as well as a couple pairs of suspenders in black and light brown. Steve would still need shoes, but for a single night they’d done fantastically well, the only snag quickly handled when it had come time to take Steve’s measurements.

(Steve hadn’t taken well to the idea of one of the workers being so close, so Pepper had offered to do it, holding the tape measure carefully up against Steve’s body while the tailor wrote down the numbers and Natasha stood as a silent sentinel to the side.)

Night had well and truly descended by the time they were back in the car, one set of clothes already with them and the rest to be picked up by Pepper later in the week. The engine was a steady hum as Natasha navigated the busy streets and Steve was a quiet presence at Pepper’s side in the back seat, face in shadow as he looked out the window.

Halfway back to the tower Natasha flicked on the radio, some kind of classic rock station that had Pepper smiling softly to herself, sending a text to Tony to see if he’d remembered to eat, to shower, to _breathe._ She got a snarky ‘yes, dear’ in reply and settled back into her seat, looking out her own window as the city went by.

The tower garage was quiet when they pulled in, Natasha turning the key and cutting off the ignition before sitting back in her seat. Steve’s head was propped against the window, chest rising and falling gently in sleep, and both women took a moment to smile softly at him before Natasha pushed open her door, stepping out onto the pavement with just enough noise to have Steve jerking into alertness, eyes wide and body tense until he realized where he was.

He followed them both out of the car and towards the elevator, carrying his small bag of clothes and stepping between them once the doors slid open. Jarvis welcomed them back and informed them Bucky had returned as well, meaning Steve got more and more fidgety with each floor they ascended, until they were stopping at his and Bucky’s level and he was practically bouncing on his feet.

Unable to help herself, Pepper reached out and quickly smoothed out Steve’s collar before the door could open, offering him an encouraging smile before saying, “He’ll be proud of you.” She had just enough time to see his eyes widen and his mouth twitch up at the side before the doors were parting and Bucky’s anxious voice was on the other side, calling out a _‘Steve?’_ that had the smaller man moving before the doors were even open all the way, folding himself into Bucky’s open arms and burying his face into the other man’s shoulder.

The doors slid shut again and Pepper allowed herself to smile, biting down on her lip when she saw Natasha doing the same.

“Jarvis?” She called. “The next time Natasha and I are free make a note in my schedule, Steve might like to go out and get himself some shoes.”

Natasha’s lips twitched and Jarvis sounded amazingly warm as he said, “Yes, Miss Potts, of course.”

\---+---+---+---

The gun recoiled with a sharp snap, the feel of it traveling up Bucky’s arm as the bullet buried itself in the center of the target across the room. Clint huffed out a laugh beside him, shook his head and lined up his own shot, took it and smirked when it too hit dead center. The targets were already riddled with holes, their centers a mess of charred black rather than clear white and red.

“Different firearm?” Bucky suggested, ready for a change of pace.

Clint nodded, turning to the rack of weapons behind them and exchanging the small handheld with his bow and arrow, snapping the weapon into place before stepping back up to the line. Bucky put his handheld away as well, grabbing a replica of his old WWII sniper rifle instead. But before he joined Clint back at the wall he went to crouch beside Steve, reaching out to run a gentle hand through soft blond hair. “You doing okay?”

Steve nodded, clear blue eyes meeting his own. There was some tension in their corners but not enough to give reason Bucky to worry. And he trusted Steve to let him know if it got to be too much, if he needed to leave the sound of gunfire and target practice behind. So he stood back up and went to join Clint, taking his place beside him and considering the changes that had been made to the range, set up for long distance now instead of the shorter shooting they’d been doing before.

“Think that relic can handle it?” Clint asked, cocky grin on his face.

“Do better than your dinky thing,” Bucky grumbled back. “Calling this a relic... yours is a fucking fossil.”

“Why mess with perfection?” Clint knocked an arrow back and fired, smiling when it hit its mark.

Bucky just rolled his eyes, lining up his own shot and taking it, letting himself fall into the easy banter and familiar feeling of a trigger beneath his finger. The target range had to be one of his favorite places in the tower, a long empty room that could be calibrated for any number of challenges and situations, mostly a gift to he and Clint even though the other Avengers would occasionally stop by to practice.

Countless hours had been passed in this room, burning off frustration and guilt and fear through the muzzle of a gun and the satisfying thwack of a bullet hitting home. But now he rarely had to come down to vent, not when Steve was back and getting better, right by Bucky’s side where he’d always been meant to be.

When his clip was empty he let his arms drop to his sides and glanced back at Steve, still in his spot pressed back against the wall with his legs tucked up to his chest, sketchbook balanced on his thighs as he worked. There were smudges of grey on his new khakis but Bucky knew they would come out in the wash, was just happy Steve wasn’t worried about the mess he was making and was enjoying himself instead. Because it had taken a while for him to get to that point, for him to be able to look at Bucky after spilling something and ask for a towel or help instead of shutting down and bowing his head in preparation for some kind of punishment. There were still moments where he’d slip, where his eyes would go dark and vacant until Bucky brought him back with gentle touches and assurances that he was safe, but it happened so seldomly now that they’d both considered that battle a success.

And there’d been a lot of successes recently.

Steve went outside now, moved around with much more freedom than he had in months. He always wanted someone with him and he never strayed far, but it was still amazing. They could explore the tower, go for short drives, even do some shopping if Pepper arranged things for them in advance.

He had fewer nightmares and stayed awake more during the day, his body finally starting to balance out. Most nights still weren’t perfect, but now it was Steve waking up with a gasp, rolling over to bury himself in Bucky’s chest and accept a few murmurs of reassurance before falling asleep again. There were still times he would wake up shivering and locked-up and completely indifferent, times he would start screaming and clawing at anything within reach, but they were becoming few and far between.

And Steve was _drawing_ again.

The day Bucky walked into their room and saw Steve looking out the window with a sketchpad in his lap he’d just about started crying. He’d just walked over to Steve instead, pressed a kiss to the top of his head and breathed him in because _god finally_ it felt like he could breathe.

Step by step and piece by piece Steve was putting himself back together again, finding himself in the shattered mess Hydra had left in its wake.

“Careful, Barnes,” Clint warned, voice low and teasing. “Think your heart’s about to fall out your eyes.”

Bucky broke from his thoughts to shoot the other man a glare, setting his rifle on the low wall in front of them before squinting out at the targets. “We hit ‘em all then?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Wanna go again?”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m gonna call it a day, actually.” They’d already been shooting for a couple of hours and he couldn’t imagine sitting up against the concrete for that long was good for Steve’s back. He grabbed his rifle and went back to the weapons table, starting the process of cleaning and maintaining the different guns he’d used throughout the practice. Clint stepped up to his side, doing the same as an easy quiet settled between them.

The click of metal and smell of grease was like a lullaby to him, something he could do in his sleep if he tried. And he knew Clint felt the same.

When they were done, Bucky stooped down in front of Steve and tapped at his shins with his knuckles, playing a little rhythm until Steve glanced up at him through his lashes.

“You ready to go?”

Steve nodded and Bucky stood, reaching out a hand to steady Steve as soon as he started pushing himself up, pencil bag and sketchbook tucked under his arm. It was a quiet walk to the elevator and then the doors slid shut, Bucky cocking his head and nudging Steve in the side. “What’re you working on, Stevie?”

He took the pencil bag and sketchbook from under Steve’s arm and waited patiently while Steve started flipping through the pages, noticing the way Clint was glancing curiously their way as well. Finally, Steve stopped about halfway through and pointed down at the page, smoothing over it with his fingers. “It’s not done yet.”

“Shit, Steve, it’s already amazing.” Bucky said, looking down at the etching of he and Clint-- weapons in hand and a glint in their eyes as they stared across the room. With a questioning flick of his eyes and a nod from Steve he leaned back and nudged Clint as well. “Look at this.”

Clint peered over Bucky’s shoulder and grinned. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“It’s not done,” Steve repeated, now fidgeting and a bit more tense than Bucky wanted him to be.

So Bucky laid a gentle hand on the back of his neck and stroked at the top of his spine with his thumb, pressing down softly for a moment before asking, “Can I show him something you’ve finished? Or do you want your book back?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said, hand going up to cup his shoulder. But Bucky shook his head.

“Of course it matters, they’re _your_ drawings. And they’re amazing. But I understand if you don’t want other people looking at them.”

Steve’s fingers tensed but then he was standing on his toes, flicking through his sketchbook again until they were a few pages back. Clint let out a low whistle.

“That’s-- You should show that to the others, they’d love it. Hell, I bet Tony would have it framed in the fucking lobby if you let him.”

At that Steve quickly stepped away, taking the book from Bucky’s hand and clutching it to his chest. His eyes were wide but his shoulders were still set, his breaths quick but his feet firmly planted on the ground. He was scared but he was standing his ground _._ “Not the lobby,” he murmured. “Not… Maybe the others. But not the lobby.”

“Not the lobby,” Bucky assured. And it was truly amazing to him how far they’d come-- how Steve was making connections, friends, and memories in this new world, this new _life_ that’d been forced upon him.

He was still standing up and standing strong and every bit the stubborn boy from Brooklyn Bucky remembered from all those years ago-- just with a few new parts of himself for Bucky to discover and love.

And he’d cherish every one.

\---+---+---+---

The other Avengers were already gathered up in the common room when Bucky walked in, hands shoved in his pockets and a tight smile on his face in response to their called greetings. He stopped beside the couch, pushed his thigh into its padded armrest and tried to gather his thoughts.

Everyone paused what they were doing when they noticed his unusual attitude, the TV getting put on mute and conversations quickly dying out.

“So,” he started, “Steve’s gonna be joining us for dinner.”

A few people exchanged glances and Bucky could see it on all of their faces that they were confused, that they didn’t understand why Bucky felt the need to make that a special announcement. Because Steve had been hanging out around the tower pretty regularly anymore and if he wanted to join them for dinner then that was great news. But they were missing a very important piece of the puzzle.

“It’s not gonna be like when we’re just watching a movie or something, this is a big step for him.” He ran a hand through his hair then stuffed it back in his pocket. “He has a... _thing._ About eating.”

He saw Sam’s eyebrows lift and blew out a breath. “I know, I know I should’ve said something sooner. But this goes back before all the shit with Hydra, at least most of it. We grew up in the depression, right? There wasn’t a lot of food, especially not when Steve was growing up. And it was the same during the war, people went hungry, people starved. And Steve....even when he was Captain America and got bigger meals because of his station and the serum, it made him uncomfortable. He wouldn’t eat enough. And he _hated_ eating in front of people. So it was already an issue before we both fell and everything got fucked to hell, but living off of IVs for seventy years definitely hasn’t helped the problem. And he’s good most of the time, if he can just like pick at it and doesn’t feel like anyone’s watching. But if he comes up for _here_ for dinner…”

He let the statement hang open-ended until Sam finally sighed and broke the silence. “If he comes up here for dinner we’re all gonna need to leave him to his business, basically.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. We’ve talked about it and he knows what he’s getting into, but he really wants to try and I’m not going to deny him that chance. If he decides it’s too much, I’ll just give him one of his drinks to have in the kitchen, but don’t bring it up if that happens. And don’t watch him eat, don’t mention how he’s eating, what he’s eating, how much he’s eating. Nothing. And we’ll just see how it goes.”

They all nodded their understanding and Bucky knew at the very least they would try their best to make Steve feel comfortable, from there it would just be up to fate.

He ducked downstairs soon after, meeting Steve back at their room to get them both dressed and ready. Steve looked up when he came in and Bucky walked over to where he was curled up in his chair, standing over him for a moment before bending down and kissing the side of his head. “Still wanna go up for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, putting down the sketch he’d been working on so he could tangle his fingers in the fabric at Bucky’s waist. “I want to do this.”

“Then you’ll do it,” Bucky covered Steve’s hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. “Whatever you set your mind to.”

Steve smiled carefully and Bucky could tell how nervous he was in that simple twist of his lips, could tell how much he wanted this but how afraid he was that the bruised parts of his mind would mess it up.

“It’ll be alright,” he murmured, stroking a hand through Steve’s hair then down to his shoulder. “Everyone up there cares about you, I’ll be with you the whole time, and you can leave any time you start feeling uncomfortable.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said. And then he stood, making his way over to the closet where he pulled out a white button up and a pair of skinny jeans, he held them out towards Bucky who took them wordlessly, watching as Steve stripped and folded his sweats neatly on the bed.

He helped Steve step into the jeans, shimmying them up his thin hips and leaving them undone until they’d gotten Steve’s shirt on and buttoned up, tucking in the hem and then finally pulling up Steve’s zipper. Then, he carefully folded up Steve’s sleeve, pinning it back before returning to the closet to rummage around for Steve’s brown suspenders.

When he turned back around Steve was watching him expectantly, eyes tracking his movements as he stepped back into Steve’s space and clipped the Y shaped straps to Steve’s jeans and over his shoulders. For such a simple item they held a lot of meaning, and were a convenient source of comfort for whenever he and Steve were apart. Because they were a reminder of not only the past, but also Bucky’s place in the present-- since Steve wouldn’t let anyone else help put them on.

Steve ran his hand over the smooth elastic as Bucky shuffled around the room, changing out of his own sweats and into slightly nicer clothes just for the sake of it. Then when they were both ready, Bucky replaced Steve’s hand with his own and gave the strap a playful tug.

“You ready then, punk?” He asked, getting his other hand on the opposite strap and leaning down to press their foreheads together.

Steve took in a careful breath, grabbing at Bucky’s waist before saying, “After you, jerk.”

And fuck if Bucky didn’t want to cry. But he didn’t. He really, truly didn’t. He held it together and settled for pressing closer to Steve instead, smiling like a lunatic before placing a kiss to his forehead, his eyelids, the top of his head. “Stevie,” he breathed. “You fucking _punk._ ”

And Steve was smiling too, eyes bright like Bucky remembered they used to be, teasing and happy as he nudged Bucky away and started towards the elevator. He hit the button and the doors started to shut, “Better hurry, jerk” and the little shit didn’t even hold the door, forcing Bucky to sprint the last few feet to slide in beside him.

Steve was finding himself again, piece by piece, and he’d apparently just hit one of Bucky’s favorites, leaving him happy and hopeful as they stepped out into the common room and were hit by the smell of pancakes and sausage and bacon and all the good things in life. (Breakfast for dinner was always a favorite at the tower.)

But his carefree mood was short lived, brought back into reality when Steve tensed at his side, eyeing the way everyone was gathered in the kitchen. “It’s okay,” Bucky hushed. “We’re not eating in there. Everyone just gets their food and sits where they want, it’s alright.”

Steve nodded tersely.

By then, everyone was aware of their arrival, keeping up their conversations but offering up easy hellos when Bucky finally lead them into the kitchen. Clint and Sam were manning the stovetop and Pepper was at the coffee machine, everyone else mingling in the open space. But that meant it had to almost be time to eat, since Clint didn’t let people in the kitchen until the very last second. And sure enough not even a minute later Clint was shepherding them all towards the island with a plate piled with pancakes held above his head. He set them down and Sam followed soon after, putting down a plate of bacon that was soon joined with eggs and sausage and fruit. Mugs for coffee and tea and glasses for juice and were placed at the end of the counter.

Within minutes everyone was scattered again, plates full and posture relaxed as they talked or watched the TV that was showing some kind of news station/cartoon mix as Pepper and Tony argued over the remote. The only people left in the kitchen were him, Steve, and Clint-- the latter of which was hunched over the stove making another round of pancakes.

During all the chaos Steve had ended up pressed against Bucky’s chest, Bucky’s arms wrapped around his shoulders and his chin atop the smaller man’s head, creating a safe place for Steve to wait out all the noise and activity. Clint glanced over at them curiously, catching Bucky’s eye and cocking his head to the side-- _should I leave?_

Bucky shook his head minutely then gave Steve a gentle squeeze. “Alright?” he asked.

Steve nodded and Clint held out a plate, one of the special ones Bucky had brought up from Tony’s gift haul, rubberized on the bottom so it wouldn’t slip. But Steve didn’t take it, just stared at it like it was one of the guns he refused to touch.

Bucky could feel Steve’s heart speed up from where his arm was pressed against his neck, but he waited to see what Steve would do, counting beats in his mind to make sure Steve’s pulse didn’t get too high but doing nothing else to control the situation.

Finally, Steve let out a shaky breath and his shoulders slumped, looking away with his hand clenched into a fist and his face twisted into an upset scowl.

“Want me to make it for you?” Clint asked, cutting into the tense silence. Steve’s eyes snapped over to him and Bucky’s did as well, but the other man just shrugged.

Steve was still unmoving in Bucky’s arms, but his pulse was no longer racing and there was a crease between his brows that said he was thinking, _considering._ And Bucky held his breath waiting to see what he would say.

“Okay,” Steve said, hand unclenching and sliding up to hold onto one of the arms Bucky had crossed in front of his chest.

Clint nodded, readjusted the plate in his grip, then went about the kitchen filling it up. While they were waiting Bucky got Steve set up at the bar, helping him onto a stool where he could easily turn and see everyone in the common room but his back would shield his plate from their view. Clint appeared in front of them a minute later, placing a plate in front of Steve that immediately had Bucky smiling. Barton had made Steve’s pancakes into one of his infamous bears, chocolate chip eyes and apple slice smile and chocolate syrup drizzled over the top instead of maple. There was fruit on the side and a glass of water in his other hand along with a fork and knife.

“That okay?” he asked and Bucky nodded. It was perfect, actually. Clint had obviously puzzled out more than he was letting on because not only had he figured out Steve’s weakness for chocolate, but he’d also known not to put meat on his plate. Bucky smiled gratefully but Clint’s returning smile was a little too sharp, too knowing, and Bucky found out why as soon as another plate appeared beside Steve’s. “It’s Bucky Bear,” Clint explained with a shit-eating grin.

And sure enough, another bear shaped pancake was staring up at him, mask poorly drawn on with syrup and oozing into the eyes and over the ears into his eggs. Bucky shook his head, about to say something back when Steve made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded an awful lot like a scoff, like an _I’m-enjoying-your-misery_ kind of scoff.

“Bucky Bear, huh?” Steve asked, looking up at Bucky with a glint in his eye. But Bucky couldn’t speak, too caught on the fact that Steve was teasing him.

Clint wasn’t shy about picking up his slack, “Oh you mean he hasn’t told you? They mass-produce those things. Ten bucks and you too could be a proud owner of a Bucky Bear, complete with mask and colored tights.”

Steve’s smile was still present but it was smaller and fading, and Bucky worried for a moment that the reminder of their age-old popularity had sent Steve to a bad place. Then Steve put a hand on Bucky’s hip, thumb slipping into the belt loop and tugging gently. “Well, who needs to buy one when you’ve got the real thing. Right, _Bucky Bear_?”

Bucky choked on air and Clint snorted, “Wow, Barnes. I’ll have to remember that next time you’re trying to be intimidating.”

Bucky just let out a sigh, shaking his head fondly and plopping into his seat across from Steve’s, digging into his own food and subtly monitoring Steve as he picked at his.

Clint wandered over to join the others, flopping onto the couch between Natasha and Bruce where an argument immediately started up over who should do the dishes. Because there might be a dishwasher, but none of them were particularly enamored with the idea of scraping plates and stacking dishes and putting away the unused food. But that’s what procrastination was for and anyone who thought the Avengers above such a thing clearly didn’t know what they were talking about.

The conversation was pushed away and replaced by another, voices raising as jokes and stories and terrible puns were told, Steve smiling quietly across the granite countertop and occasionally turning to watch when a conversation got particularly loud-- most of them involving Thor and his booming voice.

When Steve was done he even grabbed Bucky’s hand and wandered over to join the rest of them, sitting beside Thor on one of the armchairs while Bucky leaned against the armrest. It was a great evening that spilled into a great night, everyone deciding to stay up and talk and watch a movie, slipping off to bed in the middle of the night with murmured good byes and muffled yawns. He and Steve were no exception, leaving shortly after Pepper and Bruce and Sam to head down to their own floor, Steve’s hand back in Bucky’s belt loop and a small smile still curving his lips.

\---+---+---+---

It was dark in the room, dark and late and quiet, but Steve couldn’t sleep. He had Bucky’s arm draped across his chest and the ceiling and walls solid and comforting around him, but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t get himself to close his eyes and fall asleep. It wasn’t that unusual, he’d had issues with insomnia before, but usually it was after a bad day or a few bad nights. Now, he had no idea what the reason was.

With a soft sigh he wriggled himself out of Bucky’s hold-- a task much easier said than done, and he had to suppress a shudder that threatened to go up his spine at using skills he’d acquired as the winter soldier, slipping out of the room and down the hall without a sound.

“Jarvis?” he said to the air, waiting for a response in the quiet of their entryway.

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you not wake Bucky up? I know he told you to, but tonight can you just let him sleep?” There wasn’t a response so Steve quickly added, “If something happens, you can wake him up. But he’s tired, and I don’t want to-- He should sleep.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Thanks,” Steve sighed, rubbing at his shoulder and looking about the room. He was up, and Bucky was sleeping, and he had no idea what to do with his time. He didn’t feel like drawing or reading or watching TV, didn’t want to go anywhere too far away in the tower or wake up anyone else. Then, he got an idea. “Jarvis?” he asked again.

“Yes, sir?” The AI’s answer sounded almost...amused. But Steve shook the thought away.

“Did anyone clean up after dinner?”

“No, sir. I believe it was decided that it would be ‘dealt with’ in the morning.”

Steve smiled slightly at the response, eagerly embracing the part of his mind that scoffed an _‘of course it was’,_ the same partthat was getting louder and louder every day. He murmured another thanks then made his way to the elevator, stepping inside the quiet space and hitting the button for the common floor.

The doors opened with a whoosh and Steve took in the dimly lit space with cautious eyes, heart beating loud in his chest as he quickly scanned the shadows. His fist clenched at his side and he felt something dark tug at the back of his consciousness. “Jarvis, lights?” He asked tightly, blinking at the sudden brightness and the way his mind snapped back to reality. Because gone was the dark and threatening space, replaced instead with the familiar picture of the common area, strewn with discarded plates and bowls of snacks and chip bags but ultimately the same. Somewhere he knew, somewhere he was safe.

He headed for the kitchen first, clearing the few dishes already in the sink to the side so they could be stacked later on, putting away the food that had been left out and wiping off the counter. Then he went into the living room, making trip after trip to bring plates into the kitchen, faltering for a moment when it came to scraping off leftovers, but he found a solution: putting the scraps in a plastic cup that someone else could deal with later. The chip bags were closed and put in the pantry, the snack bowls emptied into their respective starting points and the bowls stacked next to the sink. Then he loaded everything into the dishwasher and hit start.

Machinery was still kind of a foreign concept to him at times, but thankfully that particular appliance wasn’t too hard to figure out. Dishes go in, then soap, then hit the start button. Steve could handle that.

But barely an hour had passed and he still wasn’t tired, so he went back to work, straightening up the entire common area as best he could. Pillows were righted and put back in place, blankets folded and coffee tables realigned. Someone had left a pair of shoes that Steve scooted more towards the side and Thor’s hammer was there as well, left sitting by his favorite chair. He eyed it for a moment more then decided he could afford to do one more errand before turning in for the night. The rest of the room was cleaned and the dishwasher was still making strange noises from the kitchen so Steve sighed and grabbed the hilt of Thor’s hammer, lifting it and carrying it to the elevator with a last request of Jarvis to please shut off the lights.

Thor only lived a floor down from the common area so it took no time at all before the doors were opening again, Steve practically holding his breath so as not to wake the other man. But it was a pointless effort, because Thor was already awake and sitting in his kitchen, staring down at a tablet and apparently engaged in some kind of conversation. He seemed surprised to see Steve and his eyes widened even further when Steve nodded at him and set down his hammer, pointing it out before making to head back down to his and Bucky’s floor. But Thor stopped him, saying a quick goodbye to whoever he’d been talking to and striding across the room to where Steve was still standing.

“Steven,” Thor finally said, staring between Steve and the hammer sitting between their feet. “You moved Mjolnir.”

There was something in Thor’s eyes that had Steve reaching up to grab at his shoulder, suddenly unsure and wondering if he should’ve touched Thor’s weapon. (Of course he shouldn’t have. It was thoughtless. Presumptuous. Thor had every reason to be made at him he was---)

“Steven,” Thor said again, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve didn’t realize he was shaking until he had the steady weight of Thor’s palm to compare to, and then he was swallowing, trying to keep his breathing even as Thor made some soft sound in the back of his throat and pulled him forward.

“Steven, do not be afraid,” Thor murmured, large hand petting over the back of Steve’s head, “You have done nothing wrong. In fact, you have done something magnificent.” Steve just looked up at him in confusion so Thor asked softly, “Do you know the story of Mjolnir?”

Steve shook his head, eyeing the hammer beside him with some trepidation. He’d heard of cursed objects, seen his fill of weapons that drove men mad, and he knew Hydra’s founder had ties with some of the strange relics and powers from Thor’s world. He honestly didn’t know if he wanted to hear the story of Mjolnir, especially if he was somehow now involved.

But Thor chuckled softly and took Steve’s hand in one of his own, holding it delicately in his rougher palm before turning it over, leaving it open so he could lift Miljnor and press it into Steve’s grasp. Fingers curling around the hilt, Steve stared down at the weapon as Thor pointed to an inscription etched into the side.

“ _Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor._ ” Steve’s eyes widened as Thor read and he was already shaking his head by the time Thor spoke again, “Steven Rogers,” he said. “You are _worthy._ ”

The reverence in his voice was too much for Steve to grasp, releasing his grip on the hammer and clutching at his shoulder instead, mutely shaking his head as Thor looked on him with a sad but understanding expression on his face. “One day you will understand that you are,” he said, voice careful and controlled. “But today is not that day.” Then he reached out and brought Steve close again, setting Miljnor back on the ground so he could wrap both of his arms around Steve’s smaller frame. “May I lift you?” He asked. “Bucky has explained you draw comfort from the action, but I do not wish to make you feel unease if that is not the case.”

Gripping the fabric at Thor’s shoulder, Steve nodded, holding on tight as he was lifted into the air and burying his face in Thor’s neck as the bigger man held him securely in his grasp.

“It is alright, Steven,” Thor said softly. “It is alright. Do not think of these things now if they trouble you.”

A few minutes passed as Steve cried quietly into Thor’s shoulder, too overwhelmed to process anything but the crushing declaration that he was somehow worthy, of _anything,_ let alone Thor’s hammer, his weapon, his power. He felt like a cheater, filled with shame for receiving something he didn’t deserve.

“You are _worthy,_ Steven,” Thor said one last time. “And I am proud to be your friend.”

After those words Steve lost track of time, not quite aware of what was happening until suddenly a different set of hands was curling around his waist, guiding him from Thor’s shoulder to another more familiar set of arms. “I’ve got you, Stevie. I’ve got you,” a familiar voice murmured, warm and gentle and Steve clutched tighter to the soft brown hair between his fingers.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, Stevie, it’s me.” Bucky said. “You ready to come back to bed?”

Steve nodded tiredly, eyes already closing as Bucky turned to carry him away, but then he caught sight of Thor watching them go and he tugged at Bucky’s hair, asking him to stop. “Thor,” he said quietly, locking eyes with him once he stepped closer. “I’m proud to be your friend, too.”

And he was glad he put in the extra effort when Thor smiled, eyes soft as he clapped a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you, Steven. And may you sleep well tonight, I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

Steve hummed in agreement, yawning into Bucky’s shoulder and fading fast now that he’d said everything he needed to. The skin of Bucky’s neck was warm and familiar as he pressed himself into it and he felt Bucky’s gentle exhale across the top of his head.

“Alright, pal,” he breathed. “Let’s go to bed.”

\---+---+---+---

Bucky paced back and forth in the hall, one hand tugging through his hair while the other tapped nervously against his thigh.

Ever since the week before, since the incident with Thor’s hammer, something hadn’t been right with Steve. He’d started shutting down again and he wouldn’t talk to Bucky, just wanted to pretend everything was fine and avoid dealing with the obvious problem, wouldn’t let Bucky fuss over him and would withdraw at random times to sit alone in their room. And Bucky couldn’t let Steve do that to himself, couldn’t watch him fall back on all the progress he had made. So no matter how difficult it might be, Bucky was going to force it as much as he dared and pray Steve went along.

The knock against the door seemed painfully loud to his ears after his quiet panic in the hallway, made even louder by the contrast of Steve’s soft voice telling him to come in. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the room quickly enough and he saw Steve sitting next to the window, staring out of it like he used to when they had first arrived at the tower. It made Bucky’s heart clench and his resolve harden all the more.

“Steve,” he said, “Steve, can you look at me?”

Steve turned his head, but his eyes were already guarded, body tight and apprehensive as he took in the tone of Bucky’s voice and the obvious tension hanging in the air.

“We need to talk about what’s going on with you,” Bucky pressed, continuing on before Steve could try and cut him off with promises that he was fine and that Bucky didn’t need to worry about it. Because he _did,_ low the day when Bucky Barnes stopped caring about Steve Rogers. “And don’t try to tell me everything’s fine. I know you, Steve, and I know when you’re lying.”

Steve wavered in the face of Bucky’s words, face crumpling and body curling in on itself, hand clenching over the scarred skin of his shoulder as he looked down at the floor. “Buck,” he finally said, “Please don’t make me, please.”

And it was a testament to how much Steve was struggling that he was breaking so quickly, how he was already in such a vulnerable place that it took just a few stern words to have him faltering in such a way.

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky breathed, immediately crossing the room to kneel at Steve’s side. “Steve, baby doll, I will _never_ make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Steve glanced over at him and his eyes were wide and unsure, shaken.

Bucky reached out for him tentatively and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Steve?” he asked. Then, seeing the way Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “Baby doll?”

And Steve broke, turned and buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder, hand grasping tight at Bucky’s shirt and not letting go. Bucky wrapped his arms carefully around him and brought them both to the floor, getting Steve situated in his lap so he could rock them gently back and forth.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”

Steve shook his head, entire body trembling in Bucky’s arms.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” He gathered Steve closer and started rubbing circles against his spine. “Did something happen? Is this about what happened with Thor?”

The hitch in Steve’s breath was answer enough, but Steve started making soft wheezing noises as well, small keens that got stuck in his throat and tamped down. He shook his head harder, rocking with Bucky’s movements as his fingers twisted painfully tight at Bucky’s back.

Bucky tried to soothe him, whispering in his ear and stroking along his back and even kissing the side of his head, but Steve wouldn’t quiet, wouldn’t calm, and Bucky wasn’t sure if this was a storm they should try to weather or escape. Minutes passed and Bucky was just about to call it, about to switch tactics and call Sam before Steve’s heart rate could get too high, but then Steve sucked in a ragged breath, pushed right up close against Bucky’s neck and whispered. “ _Bucky--”_ His voice was choked and broken and Bucky didn’t know what to do, just held him closer and kept rocking them back and forth.

“It’s alright, Stevie,” he said. “You wanna tell me? It’s alright, I promise. No matter what it is. It’s alright, baby doll.”

Steve let out another painful noise, the start of a high-pitched and broken sob. “I don’t deserve you,” he whimpered, shaking against Bucky’s chest. The first sign of wetness pricked against Bucky’s skin and his heart broke, shattered right down the center. “I don’t deserve any of you. I don’t deserve _any_ of this.” Steve’s voice cut out with a sob, crying unrestrained into Bucky’s shoulder and letting out gasping, broken breaths that Bucky hoped to god wouldn’t turn into some kind of attack. Because that would be the absolute last thing they needed.

So he tried to calm Steve the best he could even though on the inside he himself was reeling.

“Stevie,” he whispered. “Stevie, oh god baby doll it’s okay. No, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He slid his hand up Steve’s spine to cup the back of his neck, put pressure there while his other thumb rubbed circles into Steve’s hip. “You’re okay, stay with me now. You can cry as much as you’d like, but gotta keep your breathing down, okay? Can you breathe with me?”

Steve shuddered, choked out a final sob, then nodded, inhaling shakily along with Bucky’s coaxing until he was panting and crying but not in danger of freezing up his lungs.

The clock in the corner of the room was ticking away and the AC had kicked on sometime during the chaos, but the air around them was once again calm and drawn out, waiting.

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, slowly. “You know we need to talk about it. Can’t have you thinking you don’t deserve things, not when you deserve the world.”

Steve shook his head, forehead buried in Bucky’s shoulder and tears streaked and smeared across his face. “I don’t deserve anything,” he finally said. “I broke Erskine’s promise, I became a bad man and the perfect soldier. That was his dying wish, Buck. That I stayed a good man. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t _do_ it.”

Steve broke down into sobs again and Bucky tipped his head back to the ceiling, cursing all of the people who’d had a hand in turning Steve into a weapon, putting the most undeserving person in the world through the worst kind of torture. And he knew nothing he could say in that moment would convince Steve he was blameless for what he’d done as the winter soldier, so he didn’t even try, just kissed behind his ear and murmured. “But you came back.”

Steve stilled against him and Bucky continued, words pressed directly into Steve’s skin.

“You came back, Steve. After everything they did, you didn’t give up. You came back. You’re still a good man, the best man I’ve ever known.”

Bucky had been by Steve’s side for nearly their entire lives, from early childhood all the way to that accursed train in the middle of the Alps, from that fateful day in Bucky’s too small apartment through everything Steve was going through to find himself again. And Bucky was there now as Steve began to cry again, begging forgiveness for sins he’d never committed, clinging to Bucky’s shirt as tears spilled down his face.

“You’re a good man, Steve,” Bucky said again, reaching up to wipe away some of Steve’s tears. “You’re a good man and you came back, you’re here now. You came back and everything’s gonna be okay.” He brought Steve’s face up and looked gently into his eyes, swiped his thumb across one of his cheeks. “You’re gonna be okay, baby doll. You’re gonna be okay.”

\---+---+---+---

“Alright, so if you have any questions, just let Bucky know. Not that he’s any better with technology…But he knows where to find me. You do, too. But with the whole brainwashing thing I just figure we’re not quite there yet.”

“Tony, what the hell?” Bucky asked, rounding the corner and looking for any possible reason for Stark to be there. Because the last thing Bucky had expected to see when he came downstairs was Tony Stark standing in their living room. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around it even with the man standing right in front of him.

“Just explaining a few things to Steve.” Tony shrugged. “Figure if he’s going to be hanging out with the big boys he should have something to cover his ass.”

Bucky lifted both eyebrows.

Steve had been pushing forward in leaps and bounds, standing up stronger than ever since that last break down in Bucky’s arms a month ago. But as far as Bucky knew, he’d still been staunchly against handling any kind of weaponry, even so much as a pocketknife and he was shaking his head and backing away. “Something to cover his ass?” Bucky repeated, looking over at Steve for confirmation.

Tony just clapped him on the shoulder. “Yup, feel free to play around as much as you’d like. Just don’t break anything, because then I’d have to fix it and I’m kind of working on something else at the moment so…” He winked then strode out the door, leaving Bucky to shake his head after him before turning back to Steve.

“Did he explain any of this to you?”

Steve looked down at the mess of fabric and metal in front of him and shook his head. “I told him I didn’t want anything.”

“Well, that’s Tony. He’ll give you something whether you want it or not.” Bucky picked up the Stark tech strewn across their couch and moved it to the coffee table instead, urging Steve to sit down beside him.

Steve sat up straight at first, hand on his knee and jaw locked and tense, the same posture Bucky used to see when Steve was just a scrappy kid from Brooklyn full of piss and vinegar and ready to swing at anyone who tried to look down their nose at him. A battle of wills raged behind Steve’s eyes and Bucky waited it out patiently, knowing it was something they’d have to get used to while Steve decided what exactly it meant for him to start being more independent-- whether that meant he was going to be as aloof as before or if he was going to keep the tactile nature he’d gained since coming back. His jaw ticked a final time and then he turned to Bucky, folded himself up against his side and looked up at him for approval.

Because even though Steve wanted to make decisions for himself he was still partially dependent on Bucky validating whatever he decided. He was caught in an awkward place between wanting Bucky to help him and wanting to do everything on his own. It had Steve frustrated on a regular basis and left Bucky waiting quietly in the wings while he tried to figure things out. But it was okay, they were managing, and Bucky would encourage any small decision Steve made on his own.

They were still sitting together watching the skyline turn colors with the sunset when Jarvis called their attention from the ceiling. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, sirs, but there appears to be an emergency.” With that, the TV in front of them flicked on, some news channel with frantic reporters covering what they were calling another attack on New York. Bucky cursed under his breath. “Your presence is requested in the common room,” Jarvis reported.

Bucky cursed again, watching as a strange man popped on screen and started talking about superior intellect and purging the inferior from the earth-- and of course he’d decided to start with New York, of course.

They both stood and headed for the elevator, joining Natasha who was pulling on the last of her suit as they rushed to the top floor. “So what shit’s happening now?” Bucky called, stepping into the group of the other Avengers and looking over the images spread out around them.

“Someone else thinks they need to rule the world,” Clint explained. “He’s using drones, trying to attack the city. We still have ten minutes until they arrive but they’re coming from all directions.”

“Do you think you can jam the signal?” Natasha asked, turning to Tony with a calculating expression.

“Can I? Of course. Can I do it while getting shot at and in under ten minutes? Slightly more difficult.”

“But if you stayed here?” Steve asked, eyes focused on the screens in front of him even as everyone else in the room turned to stare.

Tony was the first to recollect himself. “If I stayed here I’d have it done no problem. But if something happens and they need me in the air, ‘all directions’ is a lot of air space to cover and last I checked the only one besides me who could fly was God of Thunder over there. And birdbrain if you get him a plane. That’s not enough.”

Steve reached out and poked at a screen, adjusting it until he could look closer at the formation of rapidly moving drones. “But if we slowed them down while you were stationary inside a plane, only engaged if there was an emergency...you’d be able to deactivate them in time?”

Bucky didn’t miss Steve’s use of ‘we’ and his eyes widened at the implication. Tony seemed to be the only one completely unphased, taking this surprising turn of events in stride.

“Of course, this is me we’re talking about. But the longer we stand here talking the less time I have to work with.”

Steve finally turned away from the screens to narrow his eyes in Tony’s direction.

Tony held up his hands. “Don’t get your tights in a wad, boy wonder.” He nodded at the screen Steve had been looking at. “I take it you’ve got a plan then? You certainly seem like you have a plan. They’re supposed to be legendary, should I record this for history?”

“Tony…” Bucky warned, glancing to Steve to make sure the jab hadn’t done more than irritate him.

But Steve didn’t say anything, just walked to the elevator and turned to stare at everyone expectantly. And Bucky had no idea where this sudden resurgence of Steve’s leadership skills had come from but he wasn’t going to question it and apparently neither were the others. Before long they were all piled into the back of a helicarrier, Barton in the pilot seat and everyone else sitting along the benches in the back suited up and ready to go. They only had five minutes left on the clock and Tony was already busy mumbling to himself and Jarvis inside his suit, trying to hack into whatever signal was controlling the drones.

Steve turned to the others, brow creased with concentration, looking so much like the old Steve that Bucky could almost picture him a foot taller, pacing in the back of a WWII carrier with a parachute strapped to his back ready to lead the way into their next mission.

“Thor, can you create a storm? As strong as you can, wind, lightening, target the drones if you can but make it hard to fly. Slow them down. Clint, keep us steady, shoot at anything you can hit and keep us circling, tight to their perimeter, everyone else put on masks and shoot what you can, if we can slow them down and dwindle their numbers we might be able to buy Tony enough time to get them shut down or at least make them easier to handle.”

Everyone nodded and set to work, slipping on oxygen masks and grabbing firearms while Clint hit the necessary buttons to open the side of the aircraft. Bucky strapped on his own mask quickly then went to Steve, helping him get his on and speaking to him gently through the panic that swelled behind his eyes at the unwelcome sensation of something muzzling him. But with a few blinks Steve was back, holding on tight to the side of the plane as Clint started experiencing turbulence from Thor’s thunderhead. Bucky grabbed onto him as well, trying to steady them both until Tony walked over and pulled a familiar mass of straps from a storage unit in the plane.

“Thought this might come in handy, glad I put one in here...two hours ago? Has it been that long?”

“Tony…” Bucky prompted, really not wanting to deal with any of his rambling when he needed to focus on keeping Steve from falling out of the plane.

“Relax, Bucky Bear,” Tony winked. “You’ll thank me later.” He turned to Steve and held out the straps, “Can I get this on you without you punching me? Can we do that? Because if not then you’ll really just hurt your hand.”

Steve glared at him but complied, letting Tony help work the straps over his chest and under his legs, everything coming together to form a harness that fit snuggly to Steve’s small frame.

“There’s even a utility belt,” Tony explained, tapping the strap cinched tight around Steve’s small waist. “Because no super suit is complete without one of those right? It’s even got a grappling hook, not that you’ll ever use it, but again, it’s just one of those things.” He gave the harness a tug to check for stability then started rattling off a few more things, addressing the entire group now instead of just Steve.

“There’s a tracker in there too, some magnets, makes you easier to haul around in case of emergencies. There’s repulsor technology in case you fall. Also, I’ve calibrated one of my iron man suits to you should the world explode. So if pieces of metal start attaching to you, don’t freak out, just breathe and know it’s your best chance not to die. Any questions? No? Great, because I really need to focus on this now. Jarvis, are we in?”

Steve just kind of blinked at the explanation, staying still while Bucky clipped the harness to his own utility belt. Because like hell was Bucky letting Steve fall. Not alone. Not ever again. That was something neither of them needed to live through a second time.

So Steve stayed glued to his side as Bucky edged to the open door of the aircraft, joining Natasha as they fired at the drones that whizzed by, hearing the ra-ta-ta-ta of Clint firing the carrier’s automatics and the pop of lightning as Thor did his thing overhead.

It was only about a minute later when Tony stood up and smugly declared, “Got it,” the drones still a couple miles out from the city with significantly fewer numbers. It didn’t take long after that for SHIELD to arrive, collecting the surviving drones and leaving the Avengers to be on their way.

By unspoken agreement no one mentioned Steve’s participation to Fury in any of the reports, protecting him as much as they could from a world that would make him a scandal, a headline.

They just commended him in private, small signs of respect and continued understanding, supporting him as he took those last faltering steps toward finding himself again.

They’d all heard the legends, the stories, but only Bucky knew the truth, could see history and future overlap as scrawny Steve Rogers picked himself up and lifted bloodied fists to take on the world.

Captain America might never grace the history books again, but Steve Rogers was another story. A better one. And Bucky couldn’t wait to see what was coming next.

\---+---+---+---

Nearly two years had passed since Steve had come back. Two years of fighting and recovery and frustration. Two years of finding himself and each other, rediscovering all the ways they fit together and creating new ways as well.

Now, they were tangled together between blankets to fight off the cold, watching snow fall gently around them and listening to the muted sounds of the city and each other’s breathing. The roof of the tower had become their own personal snow globe, a safe place for Steve to just look out and take in the world. They’re weren’t doing much of that now, too wrapped up in each other to care about what was going on down below.

Steve’s face was buried in Bucky’s chest, eyes drooping as Bucky rubbed gently at his back, stroking a hand through his hair and watching the way his breath turned into a little cloud of white. “I’m the luckiest man alive, you know that?” He asked quietly, reaching down to grab Steve’s hand and lift it to his mouth, press kisses along the knuckles. Steve’s hand contracted slightly, fingers curling around Bucky’s thumb, but he didn’t answer, just kept breathing softly into Bucky’s shirt. “You’re everything to me, Stevie,” Bucky whispered. “Everything I’ll ever need, it’s right here,” he squeezed Steve’s hand and pressed a kiss to the palm.

At that, Steve finally stirred, took his hand back to prop himself up and stare down at Bucky’s face. Their foreheads knocked together and Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, mouth opening and letting out a few shallow breaths before he finally whispered, “ _Buck_ ,” and his eyes opened again, brilliant crystalline blue with their entire story etched into their depths.

The snow was still falling around them, soft and soundless as Bucky lifted a hand to frame Steve’s face, breathed him in while Steve’s legs tangled with his own beneath the blankets. He pressed a gentle kiss to Steve’s forehead, his eyelids, his throat, then helped him lay back down against his chest, cradled and safe as the world spun on outside their little haven.

A few floors down the rest of the Avengers were gathered, getting ready to watch a game on TV, fighting over who would win and chucking popcorn at each other from across the room. Natasha rolled her eyes and stuck her feet in Clint’s lap, fond smile on her lips while Bruce shook his head and Pepper pried a tablet from Tony’s grasp.

Tony pouted for a moment then sighed, heading toward the couch but stopping when something caught his eye, a proud smile curving up the side of his mouth as he read.

_The Avengers: By Steven Grant Rogers, 2015_   
_charcoal on canvas_   
_first in series: Untitled_

Outside the snow was beginning to stop, thick flakes ending their descent and not replaced by any others. They dotted the blond hair between Bucky’s fingers, clung to the skin of his hand before melting away, and had him bringing Steve that much closer to his chest, holding him that much tighter as he dipped his head and murmured into Steve’s ear.

“I’ve got you, Stevie. I’ve got you and I’m never letting go.”

\---+---+---+---

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr as well, same username


End file.
